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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25664506">The Only Time Shawn Spencer Doesn't Want to be Jimmy Stewart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/huckleberryzenon/pseuds/huckleberryzenon'>huckleberryzenon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Psych (TV 2006)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But like really if you watch that episode, Episode Tag, Episode: s04e16 Mr. Yin Presents..., Episode: s05e16 Yang 3 in 2D, F/M, Gen, Hitchcock is obviously referenced, Hurt/Comfort, Jigsaw comparisons are made by many, Jimmy Stewart mentioned a LOT, So yeah it's an AU i suppose, WALL-E is mentioned, Whump, also David Blaine and other wizardry is relevant, also Jake Gyllenhal in Zodiac, also older buzz eps, also relentless Harry Potter Puppet Pals references, and also Robert Downy Jr in Zodiac, and i love buzz so i feel bad for making him evil, back again so soon? some may ask, because I made Buzz Yin, but GOD what a twist that wouldve been, buzz is a himbo usually, i would answer, indeed, like are straight up obsessed with Shawn, not me until yesterday when i wrote this, pretty messed up that like two serial killers, really i feel bad about this, really just the same reference over and over again, so this is utterly OOC, there's a solid minute there, where you think Buzz is Yin, who even knew there was a buzz mcnab wiki?, yes - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:36:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25664506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/huckleberryzenon/pseuds/huckleberryzenon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn was really trying to be cool about the whole “serial killer is obsessed with him” thing. That's hard to do when you're tied to a slightly off-kilter wheelchair with only a pounding headache and a broken leg for company, stranded on a roof. </p><p>A Fix-It AU tag to "Mr. Yin Presents..." and "Yang 3 in 2D." I.e., what happens when Yin is Buzz McNab, and when Shawn gets kidnapped instead of Abigail and Juliet, and also when Yang is still the definition of Chaotic Neutral.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abigail Lytar/Shawn Spencer, Burton "Gus" Guster &amp; Shawn Spencer, Buzz McNab &amp; Shawn Spencer, Carlton Lassiter &amp; Shawn Spencer, Henry Spencer &amp; Shawn Spencer, Juliet O'Hara/Shawn Spencer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Mr. Yin Presents...Vertigo! For Just Shawn Spencer.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>cue the "oh shit, here we go again," meme. But forreal can you tell that I'm rewatching "Psych" rn or WHAT? Bc I am and I just rewatched the second Yin/Yang episode and I forgot how during that scene where Buzz picks Abigail up from the airport, there was like a solid ten seconds where I thought Buzz was Yin and I was like "a twist!" but then that didn't happen. Like obviously it's nice that Buzz is their friend but like...narratively this would have packed much more of a punch rather than whoever Yin is in the fifth season Yin episode, so once again my goblin brain was like "well, since you already wrote one fanfiction and have literally nothing else to do, why not write another?" I'm beginning to realize this is a slippery slope (people were really nice, though, so &lt;3 ).<br/>So, yeah, this is really only an AU from the scene where Juliet gets kidnapped in the original episode. I feel like sort of unfinished there at the end bc I only wanted to rewrite part of the episode, so I might post another vignette-esque chapter to kind of replace the fifth season episode/get the idea out of my previously mentioned goblin brain. also i am 100% sure that it would actually make no sense for Yin to be Buzz and also that I got timing stuff slightly off in this, but, ya know, so it goes.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shawn was really trying to be cool about the whole “serial killer is obsessed with him” thing.</p><p>And it was sort of cool, in a reverse <em>Zodiac</em> kind of way—like if John Carroll Lynch was actually obsessed with Jake Gyllenhal the whole time, instead of the other way around. Great for Shawn’s ego, if he didn’t think too long about the <em>why</em> part of that obsession. Except Shawn was actually handling it a bit more like Robert Downy Jr. in that movie—i.e., he was only a few wrong turns from ending up divorced, jobless, and full of drunk paranoia, living on a boat. Not that he was married, but still.</p><p>Actually, considering his current situation, bound to a slightly off-kilter wheel chair with only a pounding headache and a broken leg for company, perhaps he should be identifying with the dude who accidentally survived one of the Zodiac’s shootings. Or maybe he was one of the ones who died while doing the whoopie with their lovers. He wasn’t sure which scenario he liked better.</p><p>The last thing Shawn remembered was—well, it was—well, Shawn wasn’t entirely sure. He remembered Gus following Juliet into Ernie’s, and seeing Lassie and his dad in the car that was clearly meant for Tippi Hedren and not meant for Sean Connery or Rod Taylor, but nobody needed to tell Rod or Sean that—and then he was standing up from his wheelchair perch, moving towards the stairs to go after Jules— and then a sharp shove sent him tumbling down the stairs, turning and turning, and then an unnatural <em>crack</em> of his lower left leg snapping beneath his weight. The pain of the break overwhelmed him, and then some darkly clad figure was spraying his face with something, and then he remembered nothing else at all, not even how he ended up back in the wheelchair, which was certainly unusual for someone with an eidetic memory. Add it to the list of things Shawn was trying not to freak out about, along with “multiple serial killers were obsessed with him” and “serial killer had kidnapped him in front of his friends and family and had him strapped to a bomb in his own (fake) psychic detective agency.”</p><p>To be fair, he didn’t know it was a bomb. It was really just a loud, annoying beeping (perhaps a mysterious ticking noise would be a more apt description) coming from somewhere behind him, in front of which Jimmy Stewart’s wheelchair from <em>Rear Window</em> was parked (and the wheels wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard Shawn pushed). Shawn had mostly decided to ignore the beeping, though he was beginning to suspect that that was probably a bad idea.</p><p>Though, the beeping was also comforting, in a way. A very steady rhythm. It made Shawn want to take up beatboxing. Gus could drop a rhyme, he was sure. They could make it as a rap duo. Go by P-Dollar Sign-ych. P$ych. Very cool. Swagalicious. Shawn could buy some chains, Abigail would love—</p><p>“Shawn!”</p><p>Shawn sighed in relief. This was not the voice Shawn had been expecting. Mostly because when Shawn thought of the big, bad killer Mr. Yin, he imagined a gravelly, emotionless, terror-striking voice. He had never once imagined the chipper cadence of one Buzz McNab. It was time to get rescued, it seemed, even before Yin had a chance to have a villainous monologue. This was good, because his leg was bending the wrong way and it was starting to <em>hurt. </em></p><p>“Oh, Buzz, thank God, is everyone okay? Is Jules—?” Jules had just walked into that bar. Shawn couldn’t be sure what had happened.</p><p>Buzz had flipped the lights on as he entered the Psych office. He was alone, and his gun was in his holster. Some subconscious signals in Shawn, still a little groggy, screamed, <em>red flag! Red flag! </em></p><p>He wanted to tell these flag-waving signals to shut up, and knock it off with the nonsense. This was Buzz. Obviously, by some random chance or blind luck, Buzz had figured out where Yin had taken Shawn. Or maybe Lassiter had asked him to do a courtesy sweep of the Psych office, to see if any clues had been left here. There, that was a perfectly reasonable explanation for what Buzz was doing there. Except that didn’t explain his comparable lack of surprise or concern to find Shawn zip tied to a wheelchair with a lower left leg pointing nearly perpendicular to the ground (speaking of, weren’t the zip ties a little excessive? It wasn’t like he could get very far).</p><p>And wasn’t Buzz supposed to be picking Abigail up from the airport?</p><p>“Buzz, where’s Abigail?” Tension and worry made his voice rise a full octave. He could sing for Carmen in <em>Carmen</em> if he could maintain the level of anxiety he was currently experiencing.</p><p>Buzz approached him, not reaching to call for backup, or to free Shawn from his bonds, and perched on top of Gus’ desk. Shawn wondered if it was a side effect of whatever drug he had been sprayed with that now he could only observe the things that people were <em>not</em> doing.</p><p>Buzz chuckled and leaned conspiratorially forward. “Shawn, is now really the time to be worrying about your two girlfriends?”</p><p>Shawn had nothing funny to say about this. Because he hadn’t answered his question.</p><p>“Shawn, you look positively shocked. Did your psychic powers forget to let you know that you were friends with Mr. Yin, all along?” Buzz’s face had morphed, melting like Tim Curry’s Pennywise, or so it seemed to Shawn, creating expressions Shawn had never seen on his friend’s face—mockery, malintent, cruelty.</p><p>“You weren’t Mr. Yin all along,” Shawn responded. His hand automatically yanked at the zip tie, wanting to point to his forehead, his usual indication that a ‘psychic’ reading was happening. He was hurt, sure; surprised, uh huh, yeah; disoriented, absolutely; but he still wasn’t as much of the idiot Lassie wished he was. “The timing doesn’t work. You’re only two years older than me, meaning…”</p><p>Shawn trailed off. His mind conjured images of Yang, compiled next to his mental images of Buzz—both lanky, dark-haired, dark-eyed, bushy-eyebrowed—he had to fight push back his other images of Buzz, of saving his life from Hildenbach—of Francie—was Francie evil? Did she know? What about Boy Cat? Was he a feline betrayer, too?— he had to focus— “You weren’t the original Yin. It was your father. He died, and that was when you and sister Yang decided to take up the mantle....Tell me, Buzz, I have to know: Little Boy Cat isn’t secretly an evil fiend laying in wait to destroy me, is he? I couldn’t handle another betrayal.” Shawn sighed heavily. “<em>Et tu</em>, Buzz? Me and you saw <em>WALL-E</em>, together, man. That’s a brotherhood born in blood, and in sweet, sweet robot love.”</p><p>Buzz grinned, but, again, it was a Buzz-grin that Shawn didn’t recognize. “There you go, Shawn. I knew you’d assemble it all once you had the pieces in front of you. Yang and I, you see, knew that bringing back his old game was the only way to honor our father’s passing. He always had his ways of keeping tabs on the force so that he could pick his favorite to challenge. Yang and I figured that our best way of keeping tabs was with...all this,” he finished, gesturing up and down, to his police uniform. “And for years, I thought it was going to be Lassiter...but then there was you, Shawn. And I liked you. You were funny, and whip-smart, and if not for the humor it would have been quite difficult to even know that the whole psychic thing was a bunch of hooplah and malarkey.”</p><p>“I take offense to that,” Shawn interrupted. “The hooplah and malarkey are what define psychic detective work.”</p><p>“And so it does, for you, Shawn,” Buzz continued. “And then last year, it was just so much fun—my sister and I, we wanted to keep it up. Another round with our newfound best friend. And you are, Shawn—don’t get me wrong. We didn’t hurt your mother. We didn’t hurt Abigail, or Gus, or Juliet. And think of all the times I could have. So easily. And that’s all because we just wanted to play. A brotherhood born in blood, Shawn, as you said.” Buzz’s grin, now, looked disturbingly normal. Just another average Buzz. Your run-of-the-mill Buzz. No psychotic impulses to be found.</p><p>This Buzz was overly confident, too—he did not seem particularly concerned about whether people might be suspicious that the lights were on in the middle of the night, though Shawn suspected he would have himself to blame for that. He and Gus kept odd hours, usually due to the pressing matters of Mario, Luigi, and all that they seek to Super Smash. But if someone really did do a driveby of the Psych office to check for clues, they would know that something was up. It concerned Shawn that Buzz didn’t seem to notice, or care.</p><p>“Blood might have been the wrong word to use,” Shawn said hurriedly. He heard the door slam, and his heart began to beat faster. Help arriving? But Buzz didn’t seem worried. “We could be brothers born in strawberry milkshakes. Or pineapple smoothies. Any sweet-drink bonding you’d like to do, I’m all in.”</p><p>His leg began throbbing with an insistence. Shawn wished it would stop. He had been doing a great job of ignoring the very wrong twist that his leg was positioned in.</p><p>In walked Yang, still dressed in her all-white psych ward garb. She was holding a hunting rifle, though she looked a bit less like she knew what to do with it than her brother might, considering she was clutching it in her arms, stroking it absentmindedly as if it was an acoustic guitar, or like it was her favorite stuffed animal to fall asleep with. In view of what Shawn was learning about her family life, perhaps it had been.</p><p>Yang grinned once she saw Shawn, before frowning again. “Shawny! I’m so pleased to see you.” She turned to her brother. “Did you have to do that to his leg?”</p><p>Buzz frowned. The resemblance, now that the two were standing next to each other, was uncanny. “Well, he had to be Jimmy Stewart in <em>Rear Window</em>. It’s not <em>Rear Window</em> without Jimmy Stewart’s broken leg.”</p><p>Shawn wondered if it was a bad time to try out his Jimmy Stewart impression again. He decided it was worth a shot. “Well, see, now, Buzzy-Boy, don’t you think it’s time to let old Shawn know what that intrepid beeping noise could be?”</p><p>Yang giggled.</p><p>“Infernal,” Buzz corrected. “But, you’ve heard it both ways, I assume.”</p><p>Yang giggled again. Shawn couldn’t think of anything to say now that Buzz had stolen his line, so he just waited for one of the Creepy Murder Siblings to answer his question.</p><p>“It’s a timer, Shawn,” Yang said.</p><p>“A timer for what?” Shawn had gathered that, but it was bothering him that he couldn’t quite figure out Yang and Buzz’s game. He wanted to blame it away on the throbbing wrongness of his leg, or the angry pulse in his head—but it also didn’t make any sense. If they wanted to just kill Shawn, why hadn’t they done so during the countless opportunities Buzz had had during his time on the force? And if the aim wasn’t to kill Shawn...what the hell was it?</p><p>“Until you go boom,” Yang tittered.</p><p>Well, that answered that question. “Huh. Well, what if I were to say that I preferred being un-boomed?” Shawn asked.</p><p>“Now there’s the first good question of the night, Shawn,” Buzz answered. “But Yang’s only teasing you. You aren’t gunna go boom, at least not here. That mysterious ticking is simply the timer I set for when we need to make the first phone call.”</p><p>“Phone call,” Shawn echoed. He was beginning to realize it was time to shift his stalling attempts into high gear. “Speaking of vague non sequiturs, what the hell are we doing here? There’s no detective agency in <em>Rear Window</em>, if this is still all about an elaborate Hitchcock reference.”</p><p>“Well, the thing to remember Shawn, is that Stewart was in <em>Vertigo</em> too,” Buzz replied ominously.</p><p>Shawn wasn’t sure what to do with that, so he decided to keep talking. “Huh. Well, if I’m always Jimmy Stewart, does that mean I get <em>It’s A Wonderful Life</em> cred, too? That means I end this movie with a bowl full of money, Zuzu’s petals, and a brother home from the war, right?”</p><p>Yang let her hunting rifle clatter to the floor carelessly, coming and perching delicately on Shawn’s lap, careful to avoid his bum left leg. She patted his head sympathetically, which Shawn couldn’t help but flinch from. The mysterious ticking noise chose that moment to grow even louder and more annoying, indicating the end of the timer. Buzz reached and turned it off, before grabbing the Psych landline phone off of its receiver.</p><p>“They should be anxiously awaiting our call back at the station by now, Shawn,” Buzz said. “Now, I think it’s only fair that you know before we call in that this isn’t our final destination for the evening, in case you get any bright ideas about dropping hints about where you are and who you’re with. There’s a reason I want to call from the landline. Them knowing we were here is the whole point. And as for revealing my identity....think back on your question about your two girlfriends.”</p><p>Well, that didn’t bode well. <em>They’re serial killers,</em> his flag-waving senses reminded him. <em>Serial killers. People who serially murder other people.</em> He laughed nervously. “Me? Getting bright ideas? Most of my ideas are rather dimly lit. Just ask my Dad about when Gus and I tried to invent a lamp powered by moonlight when I was eight. The total opposite of bright, by definition.”</p><p>“Don’t underestimate yourself, Shawny,” Yang said, squeezing his hand, and palming him something small and cold.</p><p>Working to keep his face neutral, he anxiously ran his fingers over the item—sharp, ridged, metallic. A key? What the hell was Shawn supposed to do with a tiny key? And was Yang trying to help him, or was this all a part of their grand finale to demonstrate their greatness over Shawn?</p><p>Buzz placed two sheets of paper on the desk in front of Shawn, and pulled his gun from his holster, leveling it at Shawn’s head. “Now, Shawn, just to review—once someone is on the other line, the only things I want to hear come out of your mouth are these two prewritten clues. Anything else, and there will be serious consequences. For you, and for Juliet and Abigail.”</p><p>“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Shawn was, in truth, barely listening. Was the key a hint of what the night’s “final destination” would be? Or was this meant to be a reminder of something else—some previous Yin clue, or memory with Buzz?</p><p>He glanced down at the two sets of clues in front of him while Buzz dialed a number. Shawn wondered, idly, who was going to answer his ransom call.</p><p>He skimmed the clues once through, and then again. And, suddenly, it clicked, just as he heard the sound of an anxious Gus on the other side of the speaker phone.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>Shawn feels some of the icy feeling in his chest evaporate at the sound of his best friend’s voice, even though his icy feelings still had a lot of business to be done there.</p><p>“Hello yourself, Mr. Guster,” Buzz replied, dropping his voice low and gravelly.</p><p>“Oh my God, it’s Jigsaw on the line! Jigsaw is at the Psych office!” Gus exclaimed, as if to someone else. Shawn figured he was probably at the station. Probably nobody had laughed at his Jigsaw reference. How sad.</p><p>McNab nudged the gun a little more firmly into his forehead. Shawn assumed this was his cue, and he leaned forward as if to better read the paper in front of him. “Uh, hi, buddy, it’s me—”</p><p>“OhmyGod, Shawn!” Gus interrupted. <em>Shut up for a second, and listen to me mess this up, buddy,</em> Shawn thought.</p><p>“—Your friend from the films. You might be wondering where me and the spirits might have gone off to. Well, I’m here to tell you this is the key to the bomb—whoops, that says ballroom dancer, my bad—wait, it says—YOUCH!” Shawn couldn’t restrain his yelp of pain when Buzz pressed his foot down, hard, against Shawn’s broken leg. Yang, still perched on Shawn’s lap, cooed sympathetically and stroked his hair in a facsimile of comfort.</p><p>“Shawn? Shawn, are you okay?”</p><p>Buzz leaned forward. “Just read it,” he growled.</p><p>“Gus, I’ll drop by half past four. My hands are on my face. Come quick, or this could get messy,” Shawn read, his voice hollow.</p><p>“Shawn, it’s going to be okay, Abigail and Jules are ok—” Gus started, before Buzz ended the call abruptly.</p><p>But it was enough. It was more than enough. If Gus had been with Lassie or Jules, they would know what he was trying to tell them—Lassie would remember McNab finding that bomb in his key-locked mailbox, he would remember the ballroom dancing lessons McNab had been taking before his wedding. He believed that. And now he knew that Buzz had been bluffing: his girlfriend and his...friend who was a girl were fine.</p><p>Shawn grinned at Buzz. “You got nothing, dude. Lassie and the Chief are going to realize that you’re the one who escorted Yang out of the psychiatric facility. They’re going to put it together.”</p><p>Buzz looked a little nervous, now, but his expression was still mostly controlled. “But wasn’t that your job, Shawn?”</p><p>And then Buzz pulled out a syringe from somewhere that Shawn hadn’t previously noticed, and suddenly it was plunged into his neck, and Yang was whispering in his ear that it was gonna be okay, Shawny, and then...nothing.</p><p>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Waking up the second time tied to a wheelchair with a broken leg was infinitely worse than waking up the first time tied to a wheelchair with a broken leg.</p><p>First of all, Shawn was now tied much, much more tightly, his wrists and chest bound to the chair with rope. He was gagged now, too, which was also annoying, because he had a feeling he really needed to stall whatever was about to happen, and it was pretty difficult to stall if he couldn’t talk to the serial killer he needed to stall from killing him. He supposed he should be grateful that his legs weren’t bound together.</p><p>Secondly, now he was outside—on the rooftop of the Santa Barbara clock tower, if the luminescent glow and ominous and booming ticking emanating from behind were any indication. Not to mention that he was currently positioned on some sort of ramp that, when the clock behind him struck every five minute marking, somehow released the locks on the wheelchair wheels and sent him rolling towards the edge of the roof and the twelve-story drop down to the sidewalk below. He figured he had about fifteen minutes—three more five-minute clangings—about twenty feet—before he was sent careening over the edge of the roof, and he went <em>splat</em>. Shawn generally had the same feelings about going <em>splat</em> that he did about going <em>boom</em>—he preferred not to go anywhere near that idea.</p><p>The small key was still in his hand, however. That meant that Yang really wanted him to have it. He’d had the feeling that Yang, despite her generally unhinged behavior during the entirety of this case, was actually trying to help him, though he couldn’t think of any other reason why she might want to help him over her psychotic brother other than how totally awesome his hair was.</p><p>Unless, of course, Yang had never killed anyone in the first place. That would be a twist, certainly.</p><p>He hoped that his flag-waving signals were right about trusting her, though he didn’t have much of a choice.</p><p>“Welcome to the big finale, Shawn,” Buzz’ chipper voice rang in his ears, too loud. “It’s been fun, but all good things must end. And think of it this way, Shawn—isn’t this at least a pretty cool way to go? It’s my gift to you.”</p><p>Shawn was suddenly pretty relieved that he had never had Buzz as his Secret Santa during the police station’s Christmas party, if this was his idea of a gift.</p><p>The clock behind him struck another five minute mark. Whatever complicated mechanism Buzz had set up (how the hell had he had time for all this? Had he patented this torture instrument at the American Serial Killer’s Trademark Office? Gus’ likening Yin to Jigsaw was terrifyingly accurate) released the lock on the wheelchair’s wheels, sending him careening down the ramp, another ten feet closer to the edge of the roof. The wheels locked swiftly, the momentum sending Shawn lurching forward against his restraints, and he grunted in surprise, his heart racing.</p><p>Ten minutes. Two more strikes until he entered the splat zone.</p><p>He heard Buzz laugh behind him, perhaps as he recognized the genuine panic on Shawn’s features. “Bye, Shawn.”</p><p>He heard Buzz’ footsteps crunching away on the gravel of the rooftop and then silence. Damn, whatever he’d been dosed with had left him groggier the second time around. His thoughts were sluggish, slower than Speedy Gonzales’ slow cousin from that one episode, Slowpoke Rodríguez. Or was he also named Speedy, but ironically? Shawn couldn’t remember.</p><p>He needed to focus. He needed the calvary, was what he needed, he needed Gus. And Abigail. And Jules. And his dad, maybe. But he needed a backup plan if they didn’t get here in time. And right now, his only backup plan was Yang’s key—but what the fuck could he do with it?</p><p>He craned his neck to look at the small gold key in his hand. It looked old, and had a strange head—two holes on opposite sides, looking like a pair of eyes. Instead of having a ridged bottom, like other keys, it was hollow at the bottom, as if it plugged into another piece. Shawn knew he’d seen a key like it before, and that it was for a specific piece of machinery—he just needed a second to place it.</p><p>But even once he knew what it was for, what good would it do him? The lack of the ragged edge meant he couldn’t even try to use it to saw (God, he really needed to get those movies off his mind) through his restraints. He supposed he could try and drop it in the track of the ramp that propelled the chair forward, but that was a real Hail Mary—</p><p>Wait. He was on a track. He would only go over the edge of the roof if he was on the track. Gheez, he really was slow tonight.</p><p>He began slowly rocking the chair back and forth, trying to gain enough momentum to tip the chair off the right side of the ramp (the last thing his left leg needed was for the full weight of him and a wheel chair to land on it sideways), but the chair didn’t budge. The wheels were too firmly locked in.</p><p>Shawn breathed hard out from his nose. Shit.</p><p>“SBPD!” A pause. “Spencer?”</p><p>Shawn had literally never been so relieved to hear Lassie bark. Good job finding the boy strapped to the rooftop wheelchair of death, Lassie.</p><p>“OhmyGod, Shawn!” And there was Gus. Thank God.</p><p>He tried to look behind him, but failed to catch a glimpse of his friends. Jules was the first to reach him, which surprised Shawn, both in that he didn’t realize she had been there, too, and also at the sweeping relief he felt at seeing her (and her worried blue eyes). She looked him, hard, in the eyes, before sweeping over his full figure. Her gaze stuck on his leg. “Oh, Shawn, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”</p><p>The next five minute mark struck, and the wheels of Shawn’s chair lurched forward even more quickly than before, sending him careening to the very edge of the roof before coming to a sudden stop, Shawn’s whole body poised over the yawning city sidewalk twelve stories beneath him. Gravity swung his unbound legs forward, dangling them in the open air, the sudden movement against his broken leg making him scream against his gag. Shockwaves of pain overwhelmed him, even as he heard his friends calling for his attention.</p><p>“Carlton, there has to be a way to stop the track!”</p><p>“I’m looking, O’Hara! Be careful approaching Spencer, we don’t know if he’s strapped to anything.”</p><p>“Holy shit! Shawn, are you okay?” Shawn felt familiar hands grasp his shoulder, and Gus’ face swung into his vision.</p><p>Shawn nodded, trying to refocus. Everytime he looked out at the open air in front of him, his vision went swimming. Gus squeezed his shoulder.</p><p>“Dammit, Guster, what did I just say?”</p><p>Juliet’s face swung around so that it was next to his best friend’s, her hands obscenely gentle on his arm, her face wrought with concern. She didn’t look as panicked as Shawn felt, though, so he thought that was a good sign.</p><p>Jules’ hand came to rest near his face, hovering but not touching his cheek. “I don’t see any explosives, Carlton, do you?”</p><p>Lassie must’ve answered in the negative from his position behind Shawn, because Juliet’s hand cupped his face, then. He wanted to close his eyes, but he figured he should at least try and seem like he was trying to help. “Shawn, I’m going to take off the gag, okay?”</p><p>Shawn nodded, and Juliet pulled the gag down. Words were tumbling out of Shawn’s mouth before he could stop them. “It’s Buzz, Buzz is Yin, he and Yang are siblings—”</p><p>“We know, Shawn, we arrested him and Yang downstairs. Lassiter figured out your clues almost right away, and when McNab didn’t show up to the airport to pick up Abigail—” Gus interrupted him.</p><p>“And the wheels won’t come loose from the track, I tried, but every five minutes they unlock and go further down the ramp, so we only have—” Shawn continued, though he vaguely registered with relief the confirmation that Abigail was safe and that McNab was in custody.</p><p>Juliet’s face sparked with alarm, before her features reconfigured in what Shawn termed her “detective face.” Shawn loved that look on her. “Three minutes.”</p><p>Shawn nodded slightly. “Three minutes, it’s connected to the clock somehow, so the motor for the ramp is behind—”</p><p>“The clock,” Juliet finished his sentence once again. She turned to shout to Lassiter what Shawn had just shared.</p><p>Shawn looked up at Gus. “Where’s my dad?”</p><p>Gus smirked. “Oh, he’s here. Buzz just disabled the elevator in the building, so we had to take the stairs. He and a few other officers were, like, seven flights behind us. Lassie and Juliet practically flew up here.”</p><p>“Sounds like you flew, too, dude. Nice.” They fist bumped, though it was more like Gus fist bumped his hand, due to him-being-tied-up and all.</p><p>“Alright, Gus, we’re going to try to get the wheelchair off the ramp,” Juliet ordered. “If we can’t, we can at least make sure we can stop it from rolling forward when the lock releases.”</p><p>Gus and Juliet positioned themselves on either side of the chair, and after counting to three, they attempted to heft the wheelchair out of the track it was set in, to no avail.</p><p>“It’s impossible. The wheels are locked in,” Gus said.</p><p>“We could try and tip him out once the five minute mark strikes, when the wheels unlock?” Juliet suggested.</p><p>“It could work,” Gus said, though he sounded unconvinced.</p><p>Shawn tried his best to ignore the exchanged look of sheer desperation between Gus and Juliet.</p><p>“I found the motor, but I can’t stop it!” Lassie shouted.</p><p>Shawn saw Juliet’s profile frown as she turned to yell back. “Have you tried shooting it?”</p><p>“I can’t—there’s a note from Yang, saying that any damage to the motor will unlock the wheels. We can’t stop it without sending Spencer right over the edge.” Lassie’s voice had gotten closer, nearly right behind Shawn’s head.</p><p>Shawn pushed aside the buzzing panic telling him, one and a half minutes left. His flag-wavers were trying to tell him something important. “From Yang?” He asked in confirmation.</p><p>“Yes,” Lassie replied, the head detective’s eyes and forehead leaning over the top of Shawn’s head to see him. Lassie, to his credit, looked a little panicked, himself.</p><p>“What was—what was the exact phrasing of the note?” Shawn asked. Damn, there his voice went again, rising higher than the rafters with anxiety.</p><p>Lassie’s forehead retreated again as he read out the note. “Dear Detectives Lassiter and O’Hara: No point in brute force here. Shawn only has one way out. Love, Yang.”</p><p>Shawn squeezed his eyes shut, his mind whirring as quickly as the fogginess still clouding it allowed. Yang. One way out. A hollow key he’d seen before. A clock.</p><p>“The key!” He exclaimed, opening his eyes.</p><p>Gus and Jules looked at each other once more, this time in confusion.</p><p>“What key, Shawn?” Gus asked.</p><p>“This key!” He was practically yelling with excitement as he flashed them the small gold key in his palm. Jules’ eyes widened in surprise. “Yang slipped it to me back at the Psych office—I thought she was trying to help me, and she was! Lassie, was there a keyhole, or a half-finished piece of technology that looked like it would fit this?”</p><p>Lassie had already snatched the key out of his hand and was running back out of sight. “You bet your ass there was!” Shawn heard him yell.</p><p><em>Thirty seconds left,</em> his mind told him.</p><p>“Hurry, Lassie!” Shawn yelled.</p><p>“You’re going to be just fine, Shawn,” Jules told him, but that was easy for her to say, because her broken leg (along with his unbroken leg, but that’s neither here nor there) wasn’t dangling over the edge of a rooftop that he was due to topple over in fifteen seconds.</p><p>“I got you, Shawn,” said Gus from near his leg, where he was braced against the side of the wheelchair to prevent it from going over the edge. Juliet crouched in the same position on his right side.</p><p>“Yeah,” Shawn said. <em>What a lame last word that would be,</em> he thought.</p><p>The clock struck 4:30 a.m. Shawn heard the wheels unlock, felt the rails begin to pull him over the roof, the only thing before him the empty air, and his best friends groaning with the effort of preventing his flying into nothingness, and man, he was supposed to be having I-haven’t-seen-you-in-four-months sex with Abigail right now—</p><p>And then Shawn was being yanked backwards, the wheels moving in reverse so swiftly that it knocked Juliet and Gus to the ground.</p><p>He felt himself moving back up the ramp, and the wheels shrieked to a halt at the top, although he shrieked a bit himself as the journey jostled leg. Lassie came bursting from behind the softly glowing clock, looking frantic, and calmed immediately when he saw Shawn at the top of the ramp, about level with his eyesight.</p><p>“You all right, Spencer?” Lassie asked, sounding out-of-breath.</p><p>Shawn laughed. It sounded more than a little hysterical. “I feel spectacularly undead,” he answered.</p><p>To his surprise, Lassiter actually smiled, and reached to pat Shawn’s leg, before realizing it was broken, and thought better of it. “Good. Good.”</p><p>“Shawn!”</p><p>Shawn’s head snapped up, his more childish instincts kicking in. “Dad,” he sighed, and it was the first time in twenty years he said it without the followup attempt of annoying the hell out of his father. For the first time in a long, long, time, he was just stupidly, blissfully pleased to see his dad.</p><p>His dad jogged over to him, out of breath. He reached up to cup Shawn’s cheek, similar to Juliet’s previous effort to comfort him.</p><p>“Son? You okay?” His dad asked, sounding worried.</p><p>“Oh, I’m spectacular, Dad,” Shawn answered. “Not even dead, though my leg is a bit broken, and I’m feeling a bit betrayed by one I used to call a friend.”</p><p>“When did you break your leg, Shawn?” Gus asked. Shawn hadn’t noticed he and Juliet approach.</p><p>“Huh. Sometime before getting drugged and after losing the comms connection, I think,” Shawn answered.</p><p>Gus moved forward suddenly, reaching to try and hug him the best he could, what with Shawn sitting on a wheelchair that was sitting on a ramp above his head. So, really, Gus was hugging a wheel and Shawn’s right foot. But he still felt pretty loved.</p><p>“I’m really glad you’re okay, man,” Gus said into Shawn’s Converse.</p><p>“I love you, man,” Shawn responded. Gus removed his head from Shawn’s Converse, and wiped away a tear. Shawn would’ve loved to have wiped away a tear of his own, except his hands were still bound to the arms of the wheelchair.</p><p>“It’s going to be a bitch to get down from here, isn’t it?” Shawn asked, hoping to relieve some of the emotional tension. It seemed to work, in that Lassiter and Juliet went to see about those straggler officers, who were two stories behind Henry, and about some paramedics, and about some late-night (or early morning, really) elevator technicians getting called. The Chief had returned to the station when McNab was arrested, so it was a bit of a free-for-all, if anything where Lassie was in charge could be called such a thing.</p><p>And it certainly was a bitch to get Shawn down—it took Lassie, Juliet, and the paramedics ten minutes to figure out the best plan to get Shawn off the wheelchair, considering his leg, and another thirty before he was actually off it and onto a stretcher, though Shawn, truth be told, had dozed off for a few of those minutes.</p><p>Once he was on the stretcher, though, he knew it was Jules holding his hand. “You’re doing great, Shawn,” she whispered to him, and kissed his forehead. Shawn couldn’t tell if he was delirious or if her holding his hand really just made him that happy.</p><p>He was really going to have to talk to Abigail about that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. In Which Shawn Has a Trick Up His Sleeve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>okie so i didn't bother to rewrite the parts of the ep that didn't need to change bc of the previous changes I made!! Sue me!! Also I almost definitely am going to go back and rewrites parts of it just because but chip chip cheerio ya know</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shawn was fiddling with a quarter.</p><p>It was one of those trick coins, from a magician’s kit that he had bought for Gus’ birthday last year—he could have <em>sworn</em> that Gus was going through a David Blaine thing—one of the ones that fold in half. He wasn’t really sure what was supposed to be so impressive about folding coins. Like, obviously he wasn’t Magneto. Who was this meant for?</p><p>Probably children, and not thirty-three year old fake psychics. He was still a little disappointed in the Doctor Fabuloso’s Make-Your-Own-Magic kit, even as he continued to flip the quarter around his fingers, the quarter folding in half as it flipped over his middle finger and underneath his ring finger, sitting there at the cold metal table, especially meant for visitors for high-security patients at the Santa Barbara Psychiatric Care Center.</p><p>Shawn was uncomfortable, sitting there. This was, frankly, a little startling for him—he was rarely, if ever uncomfortable anywhere, with anyone. Shawn prided himself on his <em>laissez-faire</em> attitude—the fact that he could crack jokes next to a dead body just as well as he could crack jokes on a first date was one of Shawn’s favorite things about himself. Being chill, even with a gun trained on him, even when he was, for example, strapped to a wheelchair that was about to topple over the side of a roof, was his thing. But everything about the Yin/Yang case, especially how it resolved, really unsettled him. Clocks made him twitchy now. He actually thought twice about investigating things that might be dangerous (of course, he still did them, but Shawn thinking about the consequences of his own actions? That was enough to really show that Yin...McNab...whoever, had really shaken him). And every time he was forced to remember how a pair of serial killer siblings had been obsessed with him—especially when he remembered that one of them had been his friend, and that the other one, for whatever reason, had saved his life—he got. Well. Like this—fidgety, uncertain, quiet. And his friends were starting to notice, he could tell. They kept saying things like—</p><p>“Nothing funny to say, Spencer?” Lassie asked, sounding like he was a little worried, but was trying and failing to hide it behind his typical dripping disdain. He was standing behind Shawn, along with Gus, who had refused to sit next to Shawn because he “hadn’t want to crease his pants just to be weirded out by Lady Hannibal Lecter,” though Shawn knew that it was more because that Gus knew close Shawn actually was to freaking out, and Gus hoped that sitting next to his secret girlfriend would calm Shawn down a bit.</p><p>Which was sweet of his best friend, but, frankly, sitting next to Juliet was honestly making Shawn feel a bit worse, because all he wanted to do was reach over and grab her hand, or maybe bury his face in the crook of her neck, so that he could smell her peach-scented shampoo. But, seeing as he and Jules had agreed that they were going to keep their relationship on the down-low for a little while, he had to restrain himself. Not that he thought they were doing a particularly good job of disguising their feelings. If he was a passing observer and saw the way that they were sitting—both turned slightly towards each other, legs turned inwards and ankles close to tangling, Jules’ hands in her lap as she restrained herself from touching his arm, his head tilted towards hers—he would know they were together right away. He guessed that the only reason Lassie hadn’t suspected is because he would never suspect that of his junior partner.</p><p>Shawn cleared his throat, and flipped the folding coin into his palm. “You’re right, Lassie. Gus’ one <em>Silence of the Lambs</em> reference wasn’t nearly enough. Anyone think of a good rhyming name for ‘Creepy Riddle Killer’ that isn’t ‘Weepy Middle Griller?’”</p><p>His voice sounded high-pitched with stress. It hadn’t hit that high since the aforementioned wheelchair-clock-tower-friend-is-a-serial-killer incident a year ago.</p><p>Jules’ hands twitched again. Shawn could tell she could hear the anxiety in his voice, and wanted to hold his hand, too. Knowing that actually made him feel much better.</p><p>“It’s okay, Shawn,” she said soothingly, instead of taking his hand. Just like she had on that rooftop a year ago, when his leg was broken and he was about to die. He cracked a smile.</p><p>“Nobody would be named ‘Weepy,’ Shawn,” Gus scoffed.</p><p>“Well, nobody would be named ‘Hannibal,’ either, Gus,” Shawn responded, his voice sounding a bit more normal now that he was engaging in the regularly-scheduled banter. “And don’t go telling me about the dude who invaded Scotland with all the wooly mammoths. He’s the reason they’re extinct.”</p><p>“You know that Hannibal invaded Italy with elephants in the Second Punic War, Shawn, we did a project on him in eleventh grade, the wooly mammoths went extinct thousand years before Hannibal was even born—”</p><p>“I’ve really heard it both ways, Gus.”</p><p>A girlish, ghoulish giggle erupted loudly.</p><p>Shawn and Gus’ heads both swiveled from each other to look across the table, where Yang stood, shackled hands and feet, between two looming security guards. She was grinning. Shawn’s fingers, subconsciously, began folding the trick quarter over his fingers again, and he felt his jovial expression flicker for a moment.</p><p>“Weepy!” Shawn exclaimed, adopting a forcefully cheerful attitude. “We have some questions for you.”</p><p>Yang plunked gracelessly down on the chair across from Shawn. One of the security guards secured her cuffs to the table, and she thanked him. She was still grinning. Shawn’s own face felt unsettled, like he was wearing the mask from <em>The Mask</em> and his face, like Jim Carey’s green face couldn’t decide whether to be funny or serious or charming or scary.</p><p>“Anything for you, Shawn,” Yang said sweetly. “Unless this is about my brother’s escape from prison. Did you really not see that one coming, Shawn?”</p><p>“Your brother is a tricky little trick-minded trickster, Yang,” Shawn answered. He leaned forward a bit. “But you’re different, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Are you wearing makeup?” Gus asked abruptly.</p><p>Yang’s face tilted to grin at Gus. “Yes! It’s a part of my new self-esteem class. Do you think I look pretty?”</p><p>“That depends, how far along are you in the class?” Gus asked.</p><p>“Yes, we do. We think you look lovely,” Shawn cut in. They needed Yang’s help, one way or another, and past experience had informed Shawn that flattery was the best way to get it. Last time, it had made the difference between An Alive Shawn Spencer and a Dead Shawn Spencer, even if doing so made his skin go all creepy-crawly.</p><p>“I’ve made a lot of progress since the last time we saw each other, Shawn. They’re calling me a model prisoner-patient. I’m no longer a danger to myself, or others, except that fat bitch in the cafeteria who can’t grasp the concept of a full scoop of mashed potatoes.” Yang paused, looking at him. “You look so much happier, Shawn. Are you seeing someone?”</p><p>Shawn spluttered a moment. Yang was really the only person who knew exactly how to throw him off, huh? “Well, the last time we saw each other, your brother tried to kill me, so, you know, low threshold for how much happier I am now, and I really don’t think that’s any—”</p><p>“Shawn Spencer has taken a lover!” Yang announced to the room. People began applauding. Shawn had to will himself not to look at Juliet, though he saw her straighten out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>Yang, too, seemed to notice, as she giggled again. “It’s about time. We were rooting for you two.”</p><p>“Cut the bullshit, Yang,” Lassie interjected. Shawn hoped he hadn’t noticed the insinuation. “Show her the picture, Spencer.”</p><p><em>Jeez, I was getting there, Lassie.</em> Shawn pulled out the photo that Allison Cowley had shown him, of a teenage Yang with her arm around a twelve-year-old Shawn next to a solemn-faced Yin, holding a basketball, and slid it across the table. “Why don’t you tell me about this?”</p><p>Yang cooed. “Oh, look! We looked so innocent back then!”</p><p>“Why can’t I remember it?” Shawn asked anxiously.</p><p>Yang looked crestfallen. “You don’t remember it? Shawn, I’m insulted. This was our moment!”</p><p>Shawn’s brows crinkled together. “Our moment. Is this why—?”</p><p>“Where was this photo taken?” Jules cut in.</p><p>“Well, I’m not going to tell you. You’re going to have to figure that out for yourselves, how much fun will that be?”</p><p>“Yin has taken another victim, immediately after his escape last week,” Shawn said. “Allison Cowley. She found this photo. What does it mean?”</p><p>Yang leaned forward, too. “It means what you already know, Shawn. That this was all about you.”</p><p>“But why?” Shawn asked, his voice breaking a bit on the last word. That was really what he wanted to know, what he had needed to know since he had seen this photo, since McNab had betrayed him and the whole department.</p><p>Yang raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Shawn. It means that you’re just like us.”</p><p>Shawn sat back, blood draining from his face, feeling like he was reeling from a blow. He felt Jules’ hand on his arm now. “I am nothing like you.”</p><p>Yang’s expression had never been more sober, more serious. “I’ll help you catch Yin. But I need to come with you to the crime scene. I work like you, Shawn. I need to touch, see, feel things. That’s the only way this’ll work.”</p><p>He turned to look at Jules, who was watching him carefully, her eyes round, her jaw clenched. She seemed to gather what he was trying to communicate, because her eyes moved from Shawn’s to Lassie’s behind him.</p><p>Lassie sighed. “This is a terrible idea.”</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Even if, as Shawn had long suspected, Yang had never killed anybody, she still really knew how to creep him out. Generally, she was more touchy and obsessive than he liked anybody to be (case-in-point: Gina). This was multiplied by the fact that she was actively mooning over his childhood self, in his childhood bedroom. A whole weird nightmare his subconscious would have a fun time playing with, along with images of Shawn playing a pickup game with two serial killer children who kept trying to stab him when he went to make a freethrow. He flipped the trick coin over his fingers, memorizing the feel of the coin moving fluidly in his hands, trying to piece together his memory so he could solve Yin’s latest clue.</p><p>Remembering, remembering, how could he not remember them? He remembered everything. Not just how many hats, everything—the color of Jules’ handbag when he first saw her (hot pink), Gus’ favorite shirt when they were eight (a red polo shirt with a green collar), what his mother had gotten for dessert when they had last had dinner (chocolate torte with two scoops of mint chocolate chip ice cream)—and yet he didn’t remember the time he had played with the children of the Yin/Yang killer, who would later take up the mantle as Yin/Yang killers themselves. He didn’t remember them at all.</p><p>Damn, this case really was cursed. It just kept thinking of new and exciting ways to mess with his head. Would he even be funny after this? Would this turn him into Lassie? He didn’t want to be Lassie.</p><p>As if speaking him into existence, Lassie came walking swiftly around the corner of his father’s upstairs hallway, where Shawn had retreated to think freely for a second without having Yang commented on every change in his facial expression.</p><p>Lassie looked even more uncomfortable than usual. “Spencer.”</p><p>Shawn, who had been squatting against the wall with his hands over his face, straightened up. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to know, Lass-A-Frass.” Damn, that was dangerously close to an actual straightforward statement. He never dabbled with those.</p><p>“Spencer, are you...okay?” Lassie asked, shifting awkwardly as he straightened his suit jacket, refusing to look at Shawn.</p><p>Dear God. “Sorry, what was that, Lassie? Are you worried about me?”</p><p>“Knock it off, Spencer, someone who wasn’t Guster or O’Hara had to ask. You’d just try to be funny, and fail, as usual, and not even come close to actually answering, and the longer you do that, the more you’re going to slip up.” Shawn looked sharply at Lassie. “So, answer the question, Spencer, even though the answer is clearly no, because you’re squirming around in there like someone’s chasing you around with a tetanus shot, and you’ve been performing the most rudimentary theatrics I’ve ever seen from you.”</p><p>Shawn’s eyebrows cinched together. “Well, sounds like you’ve detected something, Detective!”</p><p>He was being more of a dick than he meant to be, but, well, the last thing he wanted right now was for Lassie to suddenly develop emotional intelligence.</p><p>“You’ve been through the ringer with McNab already. It’s...personal,” Lassiter said. His thought sounded incomplete, but Shawn could see where he was going. It was the question they’d all been unable to ask one another for the past year.</p><p>“How did we not see it coming?” Shawn asked. “He was our friend. Our actual friend. And I didn’t suspect him for a moment. That’s never happened to me before. Not like this.”</p><p>“How could we have?” Lassie asked simply in response.</p><p>“Well, I should have put together immediately that it only made sense for someone on the force—”</p><p>“Spencer,” Lassie said sternly. Shawn stopped talking. “Enough. We’ve all been feeling guilty over this, but you can’t do anything about that. You can only do something now, to try and save this girl.”</p><p>Shawn looked at Lassie, leaning on the wall next to him. Shawn wondered if they were having a moment. Then he wondered if he should make a joke about them having a moment. But then, as suddenly as it always happens, his mind put it all together.</p><p>His eyes widened, leaping away down the hall before Lassie could ask what in the hell he was doing. “Gus! Gus! I figured it out!”</p><p>----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Okay, going into the house with only Gus as backup had been infinitely stupid. Shawn realized this. It was even more stupid considering that Allison was actually working with Buzz to become a younger and blonder replacement Yang. And what with he and Gus zip tied to freakishly ornate wooden chairs in the house of multiple serial killers that he suddenly and vividly recalled eating popcorn in, watching <em>The Breakfast Club</em> with a boy and his teenage sister that he had befriended on the street over from his back in 1990.</p><p>Yeah, it had stupid written all over it. Also, a healthy dosage of <em>deja-vu</em>.</p><p>Buzz was wearing jeans and Shawn’s old green AppleJack shirt. Shawn wasn’t sure how Buzz had gotten his shirt, but he would rather not know, as he was sure it was highly disturbing and would make him not want his shirt back, which he still did. Shawn could count on one hand the times he had seen him not in a police uniform, including the one time Shawn had seen him in an orange jumpsuit.</p><p>Buzz had been sitting on top of the mahogany desk when Allison had led them to the upstairs office and tied them to the chairs, and he hadn’t moved a muscle or spoken a word since they’d entered. Even Allison looked a little confused.</p><p>Shawn’s mind persisted in telling him that it was <em>just like last time</em>, except that it was not at all like the last time he was zip tied in front of Buzz McNab, former friend and current serial killer. For example, the last time, Shawn’s leg had been broken, and he had been alone, and much, much more surprised. This time, Shawn’s legs were fine, and Gus was with him, and he wasn’t surprised at all, just disappointed.</p><p>Also, Buzz had not been wearing Shawn’s shirt last time.</p><p>“Alright, dude, is there a reason you’re wearing my Apple Jack shirt?” Shawn asked, breaking the silence. He sounded very calm—indignant, even—and was proud of himself as a result. “Because I haven’t actually seen it in, like, two years. So if you found that underneath the couch, I would love to know what else was under there. Perhaps Gus’ waffle maker? A pineapple? Your sanity?”</p><p>Buzz laughed loudly, snapping out of whatever meditative state he had been in, making Gus flinch. “Oh, Shawn, I missed you. I’m so glad I didn’t kill you before.”</p><p>“Well it wasn’t for a lack of trying, was it, Buzz? I don’t know where you get off, thinking you can try and throw my best friend off a roof like you’re Goddamn King Kong. News flash, McNab, you’re not even close to King Kong!” Gus snapped. Shawn looked at his best friend in surprise—while he would generally describe Gus as “snappish” to strangers if he had lost him in an IKEA and needed to find him quickly, Gus rarely sounded genuinely angry in the way he just had. Shawn was touched.</p><p>“Thanks, dude,” he said to his friend, before turning back to Buzz. “Forreal, though, I had to wear a cast for, like, two months, and then a stupid boot thing for another month. It sucked!”</p><p>“But you lived, didn’t you, Shawn?” Buzz asked, though it seemed rhetorical. Didn’t stop Shawn from responding, though.</p><p>“Yes, I sure did, Buzz. And now we’re here again. ‘Of all the serial killers’ houses...in all the world...I walk into yours,’” Shawn said, doing his best Boggart a la <em>Casablanca</em>.</p><p>Buzz cocked his eyebrow, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward conspiratorially. “And not for the first time, isn’t that right, Shawn? Or do you still not remember?”</p><p>Shawn sighed. “We hung out one time when I was twelve, and then we never saw each other again, until I thought you were a police officer. It doesn’t make us connected by the thread of destiny. We aren’t Sherlock and Moriarty. If the requirement for complex archnemesis backstories was watching a John Hughes’ movie and playing a pickup basketball game together, then why isn’t Nigel St. Nigel trying to kill me right now?”</p><p>Gus scoffed. “Like Nigel St. Nigel knows what a basketball is.”</p><p>“Now’s not the time, Gus—”</p><p>“Oh, don’t you tell me that that dude sat through a whole movie—”</p><p>“He loved <em>Ferris Bueller’s Day Off</em>!”</p><p>Buzz slammed his hand down on the desk, making Gus and Shawn jump. “Alright, enough of all that, you two,” he said, perfectly pleasant. “Allison, could you give us the room?”</p><p>Shawn and Gus exchanged looks.</p><p>Allison pouted, and stamped her foot, on the edge of a full-blown tantrum. “You can’t send me away before the big ending!”</p><p>Buzz’s face grew stern. “The room, Allison.”</p><p>Still pouting, Allison left the office, closing the door behind her.</p><p>Buzz grinned again. “Now, Shawn, I don’t believe for a moment that you really feel that way. This case has always felt different to you, hasn’t it?”</p><p>Shawn frowned. “It could be all the personal attacks and threats to my life and the people I love. Oh, wait, no, it’s definitely the personal attacks and threats to my life and the people I love.”</p><p>“And that’s because I care, Shawn,” Buzz said genuinely. “I wanted you to feel important. I wanted it to be a story for the history books, and we’ve succeeded. We’ve outwitted each other, dodged danger and brushes with death and lifetime prison sentences.”</p><p>“Did you really dodge the lifetime sentence when you were convicted and sentenced?” Gus asked.</p><p>“And now, we are back where it all began. And where the circle will close forever.” Buzz grinned devilishly. “And no get-out-jail-free Yangs here to bail you out this time, Shawn. This time, I make sure it’s over.” He reached over the desk to pull out a revolver. “Who wants to go first, Shawn or Gus?”</p><p>“Huh. I don’t think so, Buzz,” Shawn said, his voice betraying his anxiety, as always. “I don’t much like the options. Can we circle back to you wearing my shirt, for some reason? We still didn’t address that.”</p><p>Buzz released the safety on the gun, looking between Shawn and Gus. “Gus, then?”</p><p>“No, no, no,” Shawn said quickly, panicking. “I can’t watch him die. You’re going to have to kill me first.”</p><p>Gus, on the other hand, seemed disturbingly calm as he looked Shawn in the eye, completely ignoring Buzz. “Shawn, you must be out of your damn mind if you think I’m gonna die after watching you die with some ridiculous grin on your face because you’re thinking of sopapillas or that stupid scene in <em>Summer School</em> where the students all pretend to be dead.” He turned to Buzz. “So, me, as soon as you explain about Shawn’s AppleJack shirt.”</p><p>Shawn felt the sickeningly familiar feeling that he had felt during the last round with Yin, where any semblance of control Shawn had slipped through his fingers in seconds.</p><p>Buzz shrugged. “There’s really no reason. I just liked it, so I took it.” Buzz looked between Shawn and Gus again, his face innocent curiosity, waving the gun with him. “We good now?”</p><p>Gus turned to look at Shawn once more. “I don’t blame you, Shawn. I want you to know that, that if I had a chance to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. You’re my best friend and we got a chance to live out our childhood dreams. I don’t blame you, okay? And I’m sorry that I couldn’t always cut loose the way you wanted me to.”</p><p>Shawn jerked at the zip ties as Buzz leveled the gun at Gus’ head. “You kill him, I kill you, you got it?”</p><p>Buzz laughed. “Oh, Shawn. That race done did get run, baby.”</p><p>Shawn was filled with raw panic. “Wait, wait—”</p><p>“No more tricks up your sleeve, Shawn?” Buzz asked.</p><p>“Well, actually—”</p><p>“Hi, baby brother,” a cloyingly sweet voice said, as Yang burst through the door.</p><p>Shawn expelled a sigh of relief as the sight of his sister made Buzz lower his gun.</p><p>“How the hell did you get in here, Yang?” Buzz asked in annoyance.</p><p>“You forgot to block up the storm cellar, Yin,” Yang answered. She was still handcuffed, so Shawn was little confused as to how she had gotten in—it was highly unlikely Vick had allowed Yang to wander into the building unescorted. “And anyways, aren’t you happy to see me?”</p><p>Yang approached her brother carefully, pleadingly, placing one of her cuffed hands against her brother’s chest. Buzz sighed, sitting back on the edge of the desk. “No, Yang, I am not happy to see you. You gave us up to the police and saved Spencer’s life when we agreed it was time to kill him. I am angry with you.”</p><p>Yang laughed. “Oh, you sound like Dad, with all that ‘I am angry with you’ talk. Don’t you know that I was just playing the long con? There was no way that Lassiter and Vick didn’t figure out it was you and track you down after last time. This was the only way we could really finish this story.”</p><p>Shawn wasn’t sure now if his initial relief at seeing Yang was quite the right emotion anymore. “Story? What do you two think is happening? That this is a long-winded John Grisham novel? That we’re a forty-minute dramedy procedural with a penchant for pineapples wrapping up the third installment in a multi-season mystery?”</p><p>Yang giggled. “Oh, Shawn, sorry I didn’t say hi before. I’m so happy to see you.” She paused before continuing. “You know, I quite like Detective O’Hara. She’s a little spitfire. I mean, no competition for me, obviously, but still, I like her a lot.”</p><p>A pang of worry thudded through Shawn’s chest.</p><p>“So are you here to help, or what, Yang?” Buzz asked, impatient, setting the gun on the desk beside him.</p><p>“Of course I am, as long as you promise to get rid of that shoddy blonde bimbo replacement for me downstairs as soon as it’s all over.” Yang moved over to Shawn and sat in his lap, and stroked his face lovingly. “And I want to see one last magic trick from Shawn.”</p><p>Gus’ brows crinkled. “That better not be a euphemism.”</p><p>“No, no, I really want to see one last magic trick. It’s up your sleeve, isn’t it?” Yang reached to shove her fingers up the sleeve of Shawn’s right wrist, pulling out the trick coin, where Shawn had stored it for safekeeping. Yang pressed the coin into Shawn’s palm. “Won’t you do one last magic trick for me, Shawn?”</p><p>Yang’s eyes were bottomless pools, absolutely void of anything Shawn might have easily been able to read in someone else’s eyes—trust, hate, sanity, love—any warnings he could have seen there didn’t seem to exist. All he could really tell was that she wanted him to show her the foldable coin. And it was entirely possible—in fact, it was likely—that she would let her brother kill him as soon as he showed her the trick.</p><p>But some niggling instinct was telling him to trust Yang, for all her creepiness. It had worked last time, hadn’t it?</p><p>“Okay,” Shawn agreed. “I feel I should warn you that if you’re dissatisfied, you are first to take it up with David Blaine, and then with Doctor Fabuloso. It is in their school of witchcraft and wizardry that I have mastered this trick. Now, is everyone watching my hands very carefully?”</p><p>Shawn began flipping the coin over the fingers of his right hand, though it was difficult with the zip tie. “Now, what’s special about this coin is that it is forged with the lightest and most flexible metals on earth, which, as everyone knows, is made of kryptonite. And when it moves quickly enough, it is even possible for the metal to—” Shawn paused for dramatic effect “—bend.”</p><p>He bent the coin in half over his fingers, making Yang squeal with delight. Tilting his head back, Shawn flicked the coin up to land on his nose, folded in half.</p><p>Yang applauded heartily, and Buzz gave a polite tennis clap.</p><p>“Oh, Shawn, that was perfect, thank you,” Yang cooed.</p><p>Shawn watched her carefully, his head still tipped to keep the coin balanced on his nose. Yang’s next movements were almost too fast for Shawn to process, though he did startle when he heard the gunshot, sending the coin sliding into his lap.</p><p>And then there was Yang, holding limply onto Yin’s revolver, standing over a dead Buzz.</p><p>“Woah,” Shawn said, and then his girlfriend burst through the door, looking like a total badass even holding Allison’s rifle and covered with blood.</p><p>And then Juliet was asking if they were okay, and he was asking Juliet if she was okay, and they were both asking Yang to drop the gun, which she did with as little grace as she could muster. And as soon as they were free, he and Gus were hugging each other tightly, and Juliet was looking at dead Buzz on the desk, and she turned to Shawn and asked, “Is he wearing your shirt? I liked that shirt,” and Shawn said, “Me too,” and Gus told him, “You aren’t getting that shirt back,” and Shawn told him, “Yes, I can see that.” And then he left Yin’s house with his best friend and his girlfriend and the serial killer’s sister who had saved his life twice, and he thought, <em>Well, it’s time for pancakes. </em></p><p>-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>It was time for pancakes as soon as he finished his statement. He knew this. Gus had told him so. Jules had told him so. Hell, his father had told him so. So he didn’t understand why he was having such a hard time finishing his statement—Gus and Jules had finished at least twenty minutes ago—when what he really wanted, more than anything, was to sit in a sticky booth in the International House of Pancakes and threaten to pour syrup over Gus’ head. Shawn had already gone through the argument he and Gus would have over the syrup three times before he even put the pen to paper.</p><p>“Shawn?”</p><p>Shawn looked up, to see Jules standing in the doorway of the interrogation room. “Hey, babe.”</p><p>“You almost done? Gus went to the bathroom.” She walked over to him, standing next to him. He leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She let him, even though anyone could walk in and spot them in this position. Not that anybody but Lassie or maybe Vick would have an opinion, but, still, Shawn was grateful for the quasi-public gesture.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Jules asked softly.</p><p>“I don’t know. Usually cases wrap up and I never think about them ever again, but this one...this one doesn’t feel wrapped up. I don’t think I can just forget about it.” Shawn fiddled with the pen in front of him, reminding him of the magic quarter trick that had saved his and Gus’ life.</p><p>Jules rubbed soothing circles on his back. “We got the bad guy, Shawn. It really is over this time. But that doesn’t mean anyone is going to expect you to get over Yin or Yang immediately, especially not me. I know this makes you nervous and uncomfortable, and you don’t usually ever feel that way, but it’s <em>normal</em>, Shawn. It is completely normal to be freaked out about...well, whatever you call what just happened.”</p><p>Shawn grinned. “It’s reverse <em>Zodiac,</em> but with a way better ending.”</p><p>Juliet laughed. “It is reverse <em>Zodiac</em> with a way better ending. So why don’t you write the ending, and I’ll buy you some pancakes?”</p><p>Shawn kissed her, and then pulled away, pen in hand, already putting it to paper. “Alright, alright. And will you tell Gus to pull the Blueberry around?”</p><p>---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Lassiter wasn't sure what stunned him more: seeing Shawn Spencer stumped for words, or seeing his partner kiss Spencer.</p><p>He was pretty sure it was the kiss. </p>
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